That Thing You Do!

That Thing You Do! (1996) is about as much fun as you can have at the movies.  The story encompasses the struggles of being in a rock-and-roll band, the highs and lows of fame, the realities of touring and the music industry, and even the bittersweet aftermath of a band's breakup.  All is handled with a lighthearted yet confident touch by writer/director Tom Hanks, adding up to a movie bursting with the joy of music.

There are other great movies about these subjects, much grittier movies, many based on true stories.  They have their value, but they're not nearly as fun as what is being presented here.  And although the story being told is about a fictional band, Hanks hits a lot of realistic notes along the way.

The story begins in 1964.  The Beatles (almost the only real-life musicians referenced in the movie) have recently appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, rock music is taking the world by storm, and the music industry is exploding.  Meanwhile, Guy Patterson (Tom Everett Scott), an aspiring drummer, is working in his father's appliance store in Erie, Pennsylvania.  When the drummer for a local band breaks his arm and can't play for an upcoming talent show, Guy gets recruited at the last minute and the rest is fake history.

The band, originally called the "One-ders" (which nobody pronounces correctly), is led by singer/songwriter Jimmy (Johnathon Schaech), with Lenny (Steve Zahn, very funny) on lead guitar, Ethan Embry as the bass player (check his name in the credits), and Liv Tyler as Faye, Jimmy's girlfriend.  They convene in Jimmy's garage to practice his latest song.  The song "That Thing You Do!" was written in real life by Adam Schlesinger, and it would be easy to call it a classic.  We hear the song maybe only eight times during the movie (it seems like more), yet it never really gets old.

The talent show features an amusing parade of styles that were popular at the time.  (Credit should go to Hanks and his music team.  Not one song sounds out of place, which is amazing considering that none of the songs in the movie are authentic to the time.)  When the boys play their song, Guy's nerves get the best of him, and he plays the song much faster than planned.  Jimmy is frustrated by this, but the crowd goes wild and the boys win the competition.  As a result, they're invited to perform as the house band in a local pizza joint.  In an effort to appease their small but growing fanbase, they record "That Thing You Do!" and sell copies around town.

A man named Phil Horace (Chris Ellis) hears the boys play, buys their record, and offers to become their manager.  He promises to get "That Thing You Do!" played on the radio, and to get the band booked into big-time rock-and-roll shows.  Phil keeps his promise, which pays off in one of the movie's best scenes when the kids hear their song on the radio.  It's almost impossible not to be caught up in the excitement.  Tom Hanks and his team have succeeded in capturing the exhilaration of a specific time and place, making it feel as if it's happening right now, and we, the audience, get swept along.  (To watch the scene now forces us to acknowledge the bitter reality that this kind of thing probably couldn't happen nowadays.  Thanks to the internet—among other things—the landscape of music, radio, and records has completely changed.)

Not only does Phil get the boys' song played on the radio, he also books them a performance in Pittsburgh and draws the attention of Mr. White (Tom Hanks).  White becomes the manager of "The Wonders" and the boys sign a contract with Play-Tone Records.  Soon they are whisked away on a whirlwind tour of state fairs, performing with some of their favorite artists.

By now Mr. White has succeeded in giving the Wonders greater exposure through radio play and live performances (as we see their song climb the Billboard charts), and he has also managed their image, dressing them in matching suits and giving Guy a pair of sunglasses.  After some time spent touring, the boys are flown to California to appear in a movie, meet the head of Play-Tone Records, and perform on the Hollywood Television Showcase.

In those days, performing on television probably felt like the peak of fame.  Even the boys' family and friends, who were initially skeptical (if not downright unsupportive), are thrilled beyond measure to see the Wonders on the tube.  We've also reached the point in the story when the pressures of fame will test the mettle of the band members, and we'll see who really has what it takes to be a lifelong musician, and who's willing to leave it behind.

We've seen Jimmy's frustration grow throughout the movie, as his desire to write and record more songs has been pushed aside in the name of touring and marketing.  Everything comes to a head on the television showcase when an onscreen caption mistakenly says, "Careful, girls—he’s engaged!"  In response to Jimmy's egotistical fury, Faye breaks up with him.  (Tom Hanks's line in this scene is one of my favorites.)

When the band is scheduled for time in an actual recording studio, everything finally falls apart.  The bass player, having already been replaced for the showcase, has gone missing (he enlisted in the Marines, anyway), Lenny has disappeared to Las Vegas to get married, and Jimmy decides he doesn't want to do things Mr. White's way and quits.

The scenes that follow are some of the best in the movie.  Mr. White, an experienced professional, takes it all in stride and even comments on the common story of one hit wonders.  Guy is left alone in the studio, where he bumps into his hero, Del Paxton (Bill Cobbs). Not only do they play together, but Paxton gives Guy some sound advice, the kind that can set a person on the right path for the rest of his life.

By the end, putting aside all the band breakup meshugas, Guy and Faye finally connect. We've seen the spark between them throughout the movie and observed Mr. White observing the same. We knew it was only a matter of time before Faye would see Jimmy for what he was and realize that she and Guy are perfect for each other. It gives the final scene a sweet—but not overdone—romantic lift.

I haven't even mentioned all the cameos, all the quotable lines of dialogue, and all of the references to the Beatles (the more you know about them, the more you will notice). If you watch the behind-the-scenes features, you'll hear Tom Hanks outlining a great many "backstory" details, and you'll realize just how thoroughly he has created the world of this story. Few movies feel this good or remember a time with such fondness. If you want to be entertained by a lighthearted story that's a lot of fun and doesn't require heavy lifting but has plenty of humor and loads of good music, this is the movie for you.

The Iron Giant

It's an unfortunate reality that the quality of a movie doesn't always translate into box office success. There are a number of movies that were box office failures, and yet they are regularly included on lists of the greatest movies of all time. These include Citizen Kane, It's a Wonderful Life, and The Shawshank Redemption.

Another factor in box office success seems to rely on marketing. Plenty of good movies have suffered at the box office due to poor—or a lack of—marketing. Brad Bird's The Iron Giant (1999) is a prime example of this. The executives at Warner Bros. didn't seem to have any idea what a treasure they had on their hands, and not only did they delay announcing a release date, they neglected to prepare a proper marketing campaign, and the marketing they did was sort of terrible.

Time has been kind to The Iron Giant, though. Even though it wasn't as widely seen in theaters as it should have been, it became a cult classic on home video, and is now regarded as one of the best animated films ever produced.

In the summer of 1999, I went with a friend to a drive-in feature of Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace without realizing it was a double feature. The first movie, which I had barely heard about, was The Iron Giant. I had been—and still am—a lifelong Star Wars fan, but the movie that made a greater impact on my heart and memory was this random animated film about a young boy and his friendship with a giant robot.

Director Brad Bird and his animation team had so many things working against them during the production of this movie. They were a ragtag bunch, smaller than other "established" animation studios, and they were given approximately half the time normally allowed for a project of this scale and ambition. Members of that team have been open about the challenge of working under Bird, who they will admit is a driven, opinionated, visionary leader. But history has shown that—no matter the seemingly insurmountable demands—they got it right. They nailed it. They created a classic. And the film was critically acclaimed, no thanks to the geniuses in the Warner Bros. marketing and advertising departments.

Watching The Iron Giant again recently, I was struck by how timeless it feels. It takes place in 1957, yet somehow feels contemporary without ignoring the realities and sensibilities of the time period. The characters have enough sophistication to easily fit within a modern story, but 1957 was definitely a more innocent time. Although there are elements to the story that reflect things that were happening in the world when the movie was released (and are happening even now), that seems to be more evidence that history repeats itself. Things sometimes happen in cycles.

The movie opens in the fictional coastal town of Rockwell, Maine, where Hogarth Hughes (voice by Eli Marienthal) lives with his mother (voice by Jennifer Aniston). Fueled by rumors and mysterious sightings, Hogarth goes searching the woods for a giant robot, which he finds and ends up saving from electrocution. The giant (voice by Vin Diesel) then begins to follow Hogarth around like a puppy, and the boy takes it upon himself to educate the giant in all kinds of subjects. One of the best scenes involves Hogarth explaining what it means to have a soul.

When Hogarth needs to hide his new friend, he enlists the help of Dean (voice by Harry Connick Jr.), the beatnik who runs the local scrapyard and makes art out of junk. Dean turns out to be helpful in all kinds of ways, even supplying the dialogue that becomes the theme of the movie ("You are who you choose to be"). He "[stands] up for the kooks," but he also becomes a valuable ally to not just Hogarth, but to the giant and Hogarth's mom. He's not just the cool dude in the shades, he's a fully rounded character.

One of the most charming elements of the giant (and, really, all of the characters) is the body language created by the animators. For a character who is struggling to understand and learning to speak English, he wins our sympathy time and again throughout the story. He's a quick learner, curious and enthusiastic, and instinctively protective of Hogarth. Eventually it’s revealed that the giant has hidden abilities and equipment that could qualify him as a weapon of mass destruction. Part of the payoff for his character is what he chooses to do once he (sort of) discovers his intended purpose. For me, he's right up there with the best movie robots, including C-3PO and R2-D2 (and other assorted droids from Star Wars), WALL-E and EVE, the robots from Interstellar, and Data from Star Trek.

As any experienced moviegoer will know, where giant creatures tread, paranoid and ignorant reactionists will follow. In response to the rumors and sightings in the town, the government sends Kent Mansley (voice by Christopher McDonald) to get to the bottom of things. Mansley is exactly the kind of person you don't want to look out for the public welfare. His assumptions and tendency to panic bring things to the attention of General Rogard (voice by John Mahoney), who is more reasonable yet still ends up being duped by the conniving Mansley. I'm not sure that Brad Bird is using Mansley to tell us that all government is bad, especially when there is the more level-headed example of Rogard, but he's definitely pointing a finger at people who react without making any effort to understand, and twist the truth to accomplish their goals. The people who use the guise of good to do bad things are usually very effective movie villains, easy to dislike, and Kent Mansley fits that bill. Don't get me wrong, he's also entertaining. His character contributes to some of the movie's funniest moments. But his knee-jerk reactions unnecessarily escalate things to dangerous levels.

The movie clips along at an impressive pace, lasting less than 90 minutes, but it does so without feeling rushed. It's kind of amazing to think back over the story and realize how much happens, and how the friendship between Hogarth and the giant is given a full arc, where little things that take place between them early on are powerfully paid off by the end. By then we’ve laughed and cried and been taken along on a great adventure. Everything, from the voice actors to the writing, to the animation and art direction, to Michael Kamen’s score, combines to make a fun and moving and memorable experience.

Roger Ebert once wrote, "...I never cry during sad moments in the movies, only during moments of goodness." That is also true for me, usually, and, because of that, The Iron Giant is a doozy. Hogarth's attempts to teach the giant are so straightforward and funny, it's easy to overlook how sweet it really is. Some of it's funny because Hogarth is so young, and his understanding of the world is only so deep. But he's achingly sincere, and the giant takes it all in, trusting this young boy so completely that we can't help but be touched by the purity of their friendship.

The story is based on the 1968 novel "The Iron Man" by Ted Hughes, but Brad Bird also connected it to the experience of losing his sister to gun violence. This inspired him to ask, in regard to the giant, "What if a gun had a soul?" This fed into what might be the main theme of the entire movie, which is about making choices, not only in what we do but about who we are.

Choosing who you are as a person is a seminal part of our collective development, a choice that some people somehow never make, which is heartbreaking. Maybe they're afraid of judgment from their families, or peers, or society. Maybe they haven't found a way to express themselves and have lacked the proper experiences or support system to do so. Maybe they don't know how to choose.

One of my favorite elements of The Iron Giant is how Hogarth introduces the giant to the concept of good guys and bad guys, simplifying things the way a comic-book-reading boy his age would. He gives the giant a truly awesome good guy to emulate: Superman! And the scenes of the nearly indestructible giant mimicking the Man of Steel . . . well, it gets me every time. When it comes down to it, though, I think he's really trying to be like Hogarth, the boy with crooked teeth and a quirky sense of humor, the boy who knows right from wrong, who befriends people out of an innate sense of kindness, and who likes to stay up and watch scary movies until he's scared silly. The boy who saved his robot friend . . . in more ways than one. And was saved by that friend in turn.

Searching for Bobby Fischer

Searching for Bobby Fischer (1993) appears on its surface to be a film about chess. But it's about so much more than that. Chess is merely the vehicle that transports us through a story full of characters who teach us a lot about human nature. That is probably not the most invigorating description, but this movie is surprisingly involving and enlightening in ways that can appeal to almost anybody.

The film, adapted from a true story, was written and directed by Steve Zaillian (who won acclaim within the same year for his adapted screenplay for Schindler's List). It tells the story of young Josh Waitzkin (Max Pomeranc), who has just turned seven years old. One day he watches men in the park play chess and instinctively figures out how to play the game. The first time he sees them playing he is captivated, as if a switch inside of him has been suddenly flipped on.

Josh's parents, played by Joe Mantegna and Joan Allen, are surprised to learn that their son, who has never played chess before, somehow knows how to play. One of the most amusing sequences in the movie is when Josh plays against his father. He throws the first game, because, as his mother intuits, "he doesn't want to beat his daddy." (She intuits a lot of things that her husband doesn't see, as most mothers do.) The second game between father and son goes on much longer, and the father slowly begins to realize that his son may be a prodigy.

Mr. Waitzkin tracks down Bruce Pandolfini (Ben Kingsley) and asks him to teach his son. Pandolfini's theories of play and absolute dedication to chess give him a certain degree of social awkwardness, yet we can usually understand his intentions. His teaching method in the film is simplified as being more about strategy, which is intentionally different from what Josh has been learning in the park from people like Vinnie (Laurence Fishburne), who play fast games using unconventional moves designed to intimidate their opponents. Part of what makes the film fascinating is how we in the audience can see value in the styles of both mentors, and how Josh processes what he's learned from them and how it affects the way he plays chess.

At this point, I'd like to point out how this movie looks. Considering that Steve Zaillian is often hired as a screenwriter, it would be easy to assume that any film he directs would be mostly dependent on dialogue. But that is not the case here, and also in another Zaillian-directed adaptation, A Civil Action. A surprising amount of what we learn about the characters in this story is conveyed visually, and not in camera moves or editing, but in quiet looks and reactions by the actors. Zaillian shows himself to be a master of non-verbal storytelling. This is helped immensely by the cinematography of the great Conrad Hall. There are not many "fancy" shots in this picture, and yet it's a beautiful film to look at.

The movie is not really about Bobby Fischer at all, but his shadow hangs over everything. He proved himself a brilliant chess player, possibly the best of all time. When he wasn't displaying his difficult personality and controversial views, he was a recluse. There are black-and-white sequences through the film that show footage of Fischer, narrated by Josh. Every chess player in the movie is constantly measuring himself against Fischer. For a time, Josh is pushed to become like Fischer in every aspect of his life, encouraged to "give himself over" to chess.

Is complete devotion a requirement of natural talent? Just because a person is good at something, does that mean they should do it for the rest of their lives? Do they have a choice? An argument could be made, and this movie definitely raises the possibility, that a more well-rounded upbringing is better for children, who must then develop into adults that can function in a diverse society. Maybe a variety of experiences is better for a young mind. Maybe a person's fate shouldn't be decided at such a young age. This theory is only bolstered by the example of Bobby Fischer.

Zaillian and his actors do an excellent job of showing how parents, with good intentions, can push their children in a way that can become emotionally/psychologically damaging. We can read it in the face of Josh's father, when he decides to move Josh to a different school to be with more "gifted" children and realizes how implicitly Josh trusts him. It's the kind of moment that can leave a parent wondering if they made the right decision.

One powerful element of the story is the confrontation of the fear of losing. Bruce Pandolfini tries to teach Josh to have contempt for his chess opponents, and, by extension, everybody else. At a crucial point, Josh's mother steps in and puts a stop to the chess lessons. She is able to convince her husband that Josh's happiness is more important than winning, that his innate sense of decency and integrity is more valuable than chess. Only then does Josh's playing truly improve.

In this version of the story, Josh's fear of losing seems to be prompted by the appearance of another young prodigy named Jonathan Poe (Michael Nirenberg). Poe's mentor (played by Robert Stephens) appears to be an old nemesis to Pandolfini, one whose methods of mentoring in the art of chess go beyond even those of Bruce, who shows immediate distaste upon discovering that Poe has been removed from school and "given" to his mentor by parents we never see. This poor child's life is completely focused on chess. But is he a better player than Josh? Or is Josh's wider view of the game the key to real victory, in the game and in life?

The final sequence of the movie involves yet another chess tournament, but this time the emotional stakes have been raised, and the possibilities of winning and losing carry greater weight in the heart and mind of a young player. The entire Waitzkin family attends, bringing along Vinnie, who has become a real friend to Josh. Bruce, who has begged off attending all previous tournaments in which Josh has participated, makes a surprise last-minute appearance. He and Josh share a quiet scene before the big showdown that, for me, is the heart of the entire story. Here we finally see their shared emotional connection, where truths are spoken, and we see that lessons have been learned, not just by the student, but also by the teacher. (Most good teachers will tell you that this is always the case.)

Even though chess is the common thread throughout the story, we come away from it having learned about talent, friendship, discipline, disappointment, contrasts, parents, and true sportsmanship. Whether or not Josh is the next Bobby Fischer becomes immaterial compared to the life he could lead, playing and winning on his own terms. I'm always a little surprised at how moved I become every time I watch this subtle and insightful story. I recently discovered that this movie holds a 100% certified fresh rating on the Rotten Tomatoes website. And it should! Searching for Bobby Fischer is a quiet classic.

Hoosiers

I’ve never been much of a sports fan, so I usually lean away from sports movies. I’ve been to multiple sporting events to cheer people on, but I never get very worked up. Yet I’m passionate about the arts and the “artsy” projects with which I’m involved, so I can easily identify with another person’s love for a favorite sport and/or athlete.

I saw Hoosiers (1987) when it was first released, and while I have truly enjoyed other movies featuring various sports, Hoosiers has remained my favorite. Part of the reason, I think, is because it is a film that features basketball, but is about so much more. This movie has a lot to say about small towns and the people who live in them, about passions that run deep and nearly consume people, about how we treat outsiders with different ideas, about overcoming past mistakes. It has everything to do with human nature and wraps it within the story of a single season of basketball in the life of a tiny high school team.

Gene Hackman is perfectly cast as Norman Dale, the newly transplanted basketball coach in Hickory, Indiana. He’s a former college coach who spent the last ten years in the navy, and something about his age and vague background causes a number of folks to judge him quickly and harshly, including fellow teacher Myra Fleener (Barbara Hershey). The good ol’ boys are rankled by this outsider’s coaching methods and do everything they can to have him removed.

A few people, however, catch on to what Coach Dale is trying to do, including Shooter (Dennis Hopper), the town drunkard who knows “everything there is to know about the greatest game ever invented.” Shooter’s son is on the team, which is barely large enough to be called a team. The boys are fighting an uphill battle, especially since the school’s star player, Jimmy Chitwood (Maris Valainis), has decided not to play.

What Coach Dale brings to the team is a strong sense of discipline. Some team members catch on more quickly than others. Eventually, as the team learn to trust their new leader, they learn that a tiny team in the middle of nowhere can become winners. One person who appreciates the coach’s methods is Jimmy. Are we really surprised when Jimmy changes his mind and decides to rejoin the team? The decision, when it comes (right on time), is borderline predictable. What makes it effective, though, is how and why Jimmy makes his choice. Jimmy has less dialogue in the movie than any other character, and yet in one scene we learn quite a lot about his values and inherent decency.

There's a lot of footage of basketball games. These scenes are photographed well, with clear direction, great sound design, and an energetic score from Jerry Goldsmith. But the heart of the movie is found within the personalities displayed on and off the basketball court. We wouldn’t care so much about the Hickory Huskers if we didn’t get a feeling of who they are as individuals. We learn the most about Norman Dale, and a bit about Shooter and Miss Fleener, but we get wonderful moments with all of the characters, just enough to make us feel like we know the people of this small town.

Let’s consider a few moments. I like the scene when Norman appears for his first practice with the boys and tells good ol’ boy George (Chelcie Ross) that his “coaching days are over.” George’s response is almost instantly hostile. Listen to how Gene Hackman delivers the next line (“Is that some sort of threat?”). He says it quietly, but there’s an intensity to it that shows he won’t be bullied.

The scene when Norman invites Shooter to be an assistant coach to the team is tricky. Hackman and Hopper make it look easy as both men wade through uncomfortable truths. There are really two payoffs to this scene. It’s not when Shooter, in his best suit, shows up sober at the next game. The first payoff is after Coach Dale intentionally gets himself thrown out of the game (again) in an effort to let Shooter use his knowledge on a coaching level, and under Shooter’s direction the boys win the game. The payoff moment is the look on Shooter’s face after they’ve won and his son says, “You did good, Pop.” The second payoff is a quiet scene between father and son in the hospital where Shooter is recovering from alcoholism.

One of my favorite moments in the movie is in the second-to-last game, when Ollie (Wade Schenck), the smallest member of the team, has to make a couple of foul shots. An opposing player makes a snide comment to Ollie, but Ollie’s teammate Merle (Kent Poole) steps up and offers words of encouragement and support. This is, to me, why they are a team of winners. Once Coach Dale earns the respect of the team, the respect they have for each other begins to grow and shines through in challenging moments.

The moment in the movie that really captures what I think is being symbolized in the story is just before the final game, when the boys and their coaches have one last locker room chat, and Coach Dale says, “I love you guys.” That kind of camaraderie and affection can manifest itself in all kinds of enterprises when a group of people, however big or small, face challenges together. It’s that sense of what teamwork is really about: support, mutual respect, looking out for each other, never giving up. In the case of Norman Dale and his relationship with not only the basketball team but the people of Hickory, I think the word “team” is synonymous with “family.”

Hoosiers evokes a real sense of community, something I’ve seen happen at sporting events and other events that include similar numbers of people. While winning isn’t everything, the key is to work toward success. We want to watch those we love succeed, and by watching them win as we cheer them on, it somehow makes us feel as if we’ve won, too. Hoosiers captures that perfectly.

A.I. Artificial Intelligence

A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) has got to be one of Steven Spielberg’s most intriguing films. The initial responses by critics and the public were largely divided, full of confusion and misunderstanding. Over time the critical consensus has slowly changed, and some people are now hailing the film as a masterpiece. Roger Ebert’s original review was positive while acknowledging what he saw as problems with the story; ten years later he added it to his list of Great Movies. The story is deeper, more complex, and much more ambiguous than most people initially thought.

There are other films that were largely brushed aside when they were released, but eventually achieved a greater status and are now regarded as classics. Casablanca, Citizen Kane, The Shawshank Redemption, and It’s a Wonderful Life, which are regularly included in lists of the greatest movies, were not critically acclaimed. It took years for people to catch on. Sometimes a piece of art doesn’t receive immediate recognition, but time and contemplation can change our minds.

A.I. Artificial Intelligence may be in the same category. I’ve certainly been more conflicted over it than any other film Spielberg has made. And yet I find it fascinating. As people have begun to praise the film, I’ve read article after review after analysis, keeping up with their thoughts, trying to understand what inspired them to call it a masterpiece. I’m not yet sure if I would call it that, but I agree with Roger Ebert’s comment that it is “ceaselessly watchable, endlessly compelling.” Here we are, more than fifteen years after its release, discussing its merits, attempting to determine its “greatness.”

The project began with Stanley Kubrick, based on a short story by Brian Aldiss called “Super Toys Last All Summer Long.” Working with Ian Watson and other writers, Kubrick spent years trying to develop the material for a film. Eventually he came to the conclusion that technology had not evolved enough to do the story justice, and the project continued in silent development. After the success of Jurassic Park and its phenomenal leap in technology, Kubrick started working again on A.I. in earnest. Unfortunately, he died before he was able to complete it.

Kubrick had shared the story with his friend Steven Spielberg when it was in its early stages. He even suggested that Spielberg ought to direct it. After Kubrick’s death, his widow approached Spielberg, stating that the only way the project would see the light of day would be if Spielberg directed it. Spielberg wrote the screenplay himself, staying as true as possible to Kubrick’s vision. (This is one of the things I’m always defending. People mistakenly assume that the “sentimental” parts of the film were inserted by Spielberg into Kubrick’s unsentimental story. Almost the exact opposite is true. The seemingly “sentimental” ending is just as Kubrick wanted, taken directly from Ian Watson’s screen story. While people thought that the Flesh Fair was Kubrick’s creation, it was more the work of Spielberg. People thought that Spielberg severely toned down the Gigolo Joe scenes, but in reality, Spielberg enlarged the role of that character.)

Anyway, I haven’t even discussed the story yet. It begins some distance in the future, when our coastlines are flooded after the ice caps have melted. Professor Hobby (William Hurt), the head of Cybertronics, suggests that they build a child “mecha.” Mechas have been created to be workers and lovers, but he desires to create a robot that can love, like the love between a parent and child. Childbearing is tightly controlled, and he thinks that his idea will fill a need for childless parents. (We will later learn that the loss of his son is the driving force behind his plan.)

Flash-forward and we meet Monica (Frances O’Connor) and Henry Swinton (Sam Robards). Their son is in cryogenic status, waiting for a medical solution to his condition. Henry works for Cybertronics and is selected to “test-drive” a new child mecha. When he first brings David (Haley Joel Osment) home, Monica is extremely upset, disturbed by the thought of a robot taking the place of her child. David is very quiet, never blinks, and sort of creeps them out at first. To keep him company, Monica introduces David to Teddy (voice by Jack Angel), who becomes David's sidekick for the remainder of the film. After a while, Monica, still conflicted by her need to be a mother, decides to “imprint” David.

Soon after, the Swintons bring home their healed son Martin (Jake Thomas). Martin's jealousy of David's presence creates friction within the family. His manipulation of David eventually makes it appear that keeping David in the home is dangerous, and Henry convinces Monica that they need to get rid of David. Monica reluctantly goes for a drive with David, intending to take him to Cybertronics to be destroyed, but guilt changes her mind and she abandons David in the woods.

While in the woods David meets other abandoned and discarded mechas who scrounge for spare parts. The mechas are soon captured by Lord Johnson-Johnson (Brendan Gleeson) to be used in a Flesh Fair, which is a twisted event where mechas are destroyed for the entertainment of humans. David escapes the Flesh Fair with Gigolo Joe (Jude Law), and the two travel to Rouge City so that David can search for the Blue Fairy. During his time in the Swinton home David learned the story of Pinocchio and has become convinced that the Blue Fairy can turn him into a real boy, thus granting him the ability to earn Monica's love.

Rouge City is a bit like Las Vegas on steroids but even more depraved. It's kind of amazing how Spielberg and his collaborators have created such distinct places, each one as memorable as the other. The images in this film are strangely, inexplicably haunting. The design work, in addition to the cinematography by the great Janusz Kaminski, is impeccable.

David and Joe ask Dr. Know (voice by Robin Williams) how to find the Blue Fairy, and he shares with them a strangely prescient portion of a poem by William Butler Yeats which leads them to a flooded Manhattan. There they find Professor Hobby, and David learns the truth and purpose of his creation. In the film's most disturbing scene, David also learns that he is one of many "Davids." (Spoilers from here on out.) Not knowing how to handle this information, David basically attempts suicide, falling from a tall building into the ocean below.

David and Teddy end up using an "amphibicopter" to search the underwater Coney Island amusement park, where they eventually locate a statue of the Blue Fairy. They become trapped, and David implores the Blue Fairy to turn him into a real boy. Time passes, a new ice age descends, and the story continues 2000 years later.

The amphibicopter is excavated from the ice, and David and Teddy are discovered by what at first resemble aliens but are actually highly advanced super-mechas. Mankind has become extinct and these super-mechas are all that remain. They access David's memories as a way of studying his interaction with humans, which is now their only way of studying the human race, possibly in an attempt to understand their own past. The super-mechas appear to be led by a character credited as the Specialist (voice by Ben Kingsley), who is also the narrator of the film.

After being awakened by the super-mechas, David appears to have returned to the Swinton home where he encounters the Blue Fairy (voice by Meryl Streep). As a result, the super-mechas decide to give David one last day with Monica. (In the film it is explained that she has been recreated through a strand of DNA and will only live for a single day. Other discussions on the internet have posed the theory that the final events in the story may only be happening in David's mind.)

It's really up to each viewer to decide what happens at the very end. It's interesting to note that, in the behind-the-scenes interviews, composer John Williams (whose score for this film is an extraordinary achievement) states that David essentially dies at the end, which brings a certain human-like mortality to his character.

I've left out certain key elements of the story, but they ought to be discovered as part of the experience of David's journey. At the end we're left with many debatable issues. Does David really feel love, or is it only a result of his programming? Do we as an audience really care about the fate of a robot boy, no matter how realistic? Humans are expert at forming sentimental connections to objects. Does such a connection constitute a responsibility on our part?

Spielberg creates a look in this film that often pays tribute to the work of Kubrick, and often evokes other Spielberg films, but somehow becomes an interesting mix. As he has gotten older, Spielberg's camera work has become even more elegant and economic; even fancy shots still serve the story. And through the astounding performance of Haley Joel Osment he found the perfect David. This story lingers in the mind, stirring many questions and ideas.

Even as I write this in late 2016, the film holds up astonishingly well. None of it looks dated, and the story has as much impact as when it was first released. I'm not sure if I've done it justice in this description. I'm drawn to this story, which is hard to describe except as Ebert did: "ceaselessly watchable, endlessly compelling."

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

When I saw the original Planet of the Apes as a kid I hated it. There were a lot of factors: I was too young to understand the message behind the story; parts of it were disturbing to me (even though it's technically a rated G movie); it's very different from other science-fiction films; and it just kind of creeped me out. The apes bothered me, not because they looked like actors wearing masks, but because they were out to control and/or eliminate humans. For me, they had no redeeming features.

So I ignored the entire franchise for years. I've been somewhat of a Tim Burton fan, but I avoided watching his 2001 version. Childhood memories create strong impulses. Then Rise of the Planet of the Apes came out in 2011 . . . and I went about my business. But my brother said I ought to watch it and that I might like it. I read up on it and was pleasantly surprised to find that it got favorable reviews. then I gave it a look and surprised myself. Not only did I like it, I really liked it. The filmmakers had finally found the right way into the story for me: they told it (mostly) from the point of view of Caesar, the main ape character. Andy Serkis's performance was revelatory, and I found myself identifying with Caesar.

Three years later came Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014) with a new director, but still with Andy Serkis. I still can't believe how excited I was to see it. The special effects had taken yet another leap in quality, and the story was even deeper than before. This time I identified with the apes and the humans, which is sometimes a controversial move for a filmmaker, showing that the arguments on both sides have equal importance and value, while also showing that there are potential villains on either side of a conflict. No one is 100% right, and no one is 100% wrong. Yet things happen that will forever affect the direction of both societies. I was emotionally involved from beginning to end.

The events in Dawn take place ten years after Rise of the Planet of the Apes. The apes have created a utopian society in the California forest, working and living in harmony. There have been no signs of humans. Caesar is the leader of the colony, and has a family (wife Cornelia, son Blue Eyes, and a newborn). The ape friends he made in the first movie (Maurice, Koba, and Rocket) are trusted and important members of this society.

All seems peaceful until a group of humans stumble upon the apes. It is revealed that humans are still living in San Francisco, and a small group has been sent to locate the nearby dam and attempt to use it to restore a modest amount of power to the remaining residents of the city. The group is led by Malcolm (Jason Clarke) and includes his wife Ellie (Keri Russell) and son Alex (Kodi Smit-McPhee). Caesar initially turns the humans away, but Malcolm makes an appeal to the apes, and soon they are trying to find a way to work together.

The cooperation between the apes and humans causes deep unease on both sides. A majority of the human population was wiped out by the "simian flu," and several of the apes, Koba (Toby Kebbell) in particular, remember the treatment they received at the hands of humans. Mistrust and fear of the unknown plague both parties.

It's worth appreciating how director Matt Reeves doesn't turn this into an all-out action film by shying away from the issues that arise. He deftly shows that both sides share many of the same feelings. Both sides are led by open-minded individuals who are struggling to control the fears of those around them. Sometimes those fears are justified. Sometimes the only way forward is to put aside differences and work together, bringing each other to a different understanding. But fear is a powerful emotion, and the characters in the world of this movie have been conditioned to expect it. Only a chosen few possess enough foresight to push against that impulse.

Without giving away much more of the plot, the misunderstanding and anger that have been simmering for the entire movie finally bring things to a conflict. The intriguing part is that the filmmakers have made it possible for us to follow all of the issues. Even when characters do things we don't agree with, we understand how they came to those decisions. Both humans and apes see what happens as a betrayal, but it's hard to assign all of the blame to one side.

The director and his colleagues do a smooth job of taking what is essentially a science-fiction thriller and weaving in all the emotional/political/sociological issues. I found it to be very resonant. While none of the issues are simply black and white, we get a clear sense of how the characters feel about them. To an even greater degree, Reeves has made it possible for the audience to identify with the apes as much as—if not more than—the humans. When things finally boil over into action sequences, we understand the complexity of what is happening without losing track of the characters.

Much credit is also due Andy Serkis, one of the greatest actors now working. Beginning with the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and passing through King Kong (2005), The Adventures of Tintin, Rise of the Planet of the Apes, The Hobbit, and Star Wars: The Force Awakens, his work is unparalleled in the world of motion-capture performance. As a pioneer in the field, he has an innate understanding of the process, in addition to being a wonderful actor. He gives a powerful yet subtle performance, conveying intelligence and wisdom through guarded expressions and body language with just enough dialogue but no more than necessary.

All of the actors, in fact, do a great job. The cast is a good mix on both sides of the conflict, and the director makes it easy to tell everyone apart. These are not cookie-cutout characters from an assembly line. These are individuals with personalities and histories that can affect the outcome of the story.

Maybe the turnaround in my opinion had something to do with advancements in technology. But I think a big reason is how movies have developed in their storytelling. The filmmakers finally approached this story from an angle that piqued my interest. As Caesar tells the members of his extended family: "If we go to war, we could lose all we've built. Home. Family. Future."

Who couldn't relate to that?

Peter Pan

Remember when you were a kid, and you saw the legendary TV musical version of Peter Pan, and Peter was striding around the stage declaring, "I WON'T grow up!"? Remember what you thought, in your innocent, naïve, trusting childlike way? You thought: "That's not a little boy. That's obviously middle-aged actress Mary Martin making a fool out of herself."

                                                         ~ Dave Barry, from Dave Barry Turns 40

P.J. Hogan's live-action Peter Pan (2003) is the first major film to break with tradition and cast a real boy in the role of Peter. And the rest of the cast is spot on. There are some big-name actors involved, including Jason Isaacs, Richard Briers, and Lynn Redgrave. Yes, there is some silliness, but that comes with the territory. The world of Neverland is one of imagination and fantasy, and the filmmakers have succeeded in creating a full-fledged movie and not some made-for-kids fluff.

The story of Peter Pan, sprung from the mind of J.M. Barrie, was written as a book and adapted for the stage, but it was born to be a movie. Everything in the film is presented with a kind of storybook look, including the scenes set in London. Visually, the early scenes are just this side of being realistic, while the look of Neverland is a work of imagination that takes things to a whole new level. The story follows a path that, over the years, has become familiar. Along the way we meet mermaids, fairies, pirates, Indians, and the Lost Boys. Where the film succeeds is in making it all seem fresh and new.

The story begins with Peter Pan (Jeremy Sumpter) observing Wendy Darling (Rachel Hurd-Wood) and her brothers as they create stories and pretend to be pirates. They have a pleasant life with a loving mother (Olivia Williams), a kind yet timid father (Jason Isaacs), and a dog for a nanny. Wendy is on the verge of growing up, which is strongly encouraged by Aunt Millicent (Lynn Redgrave). This is an alarming prospect, and Peter floats in at the right time to whisk Wendy and the boys away to Neverland where they will never have to grow up.

At this point we begin to notice another successful element of the film. Advances in technology have finally made it possible to create "realistic" flying, without making the actors look like they're hanging on wires. While the Darling children are learning to fly for the first time, Peter is supposed to be an expert, and Jeremy Sumpter looks convincing and impressive.

Once they arrive in Neverland, the children are immediately attacked by pirates, led by Captain Hook. One tradition that the filmmakers have maintained is the dual casting of Mr. Darling and Captain Hook. Jason Isaacs has fun with both, giving us a deliciously nasty Hook, and a touching portrayal of shy Mr. Darling.

It appears that Hook's sole purpose is to be the nemesis of Peter Pan. Once Wendy comes along, Hook is almost at a loss. So, too, is Tinkerbell (Ludivine Sagnier), Peter's constant companion. As the narrator tell us, fairies have room for only one emotion at a time, and the feisty Tinkerbell gets herself into trouble, even going so far as to form an unwise alliance with the untrustworthy Captain Hook.

The presence of Wendy and her brothers in Neverland seems to have an effect on nearly all of its inhabitants. The Lost Boys suddenly lose interest in following Peter and beg Wendy to be their mother and tell stories. The sly part of the story is that Wendy has already grown up. While she has fun in Neverland, she is constantly thinking of her worried parents and is always aware of the deeper emotions and issues in life that Peter is willfully avoiding. When he offers her the chance to never worry about grown-up things again, she replies, "Never is an awfully long time."

I fear that I haven't given you a good idea of the fun and momentum of the story. There are so many things that have been done just right in this film, yet so many things I don't want to give away. There's even a nice twist on the part about clapping to bring fairies back to life.

Finding Neverland, the 2004 film about how J.M. Barrie was inspired to write Peter Pan, came out a year after this film. It is moving, enchanting, and a little sad. It's fun to see how the story of Peter Pan was first brought to the stage, and how it became Barrie's greatest success. I think the two films complement each other rather well.

While Finding Neverland is about the creation of the myth, this Peter Pan is all about seeing the story in its full glory. The first time I saw it in the theater, I had a goofy grin on my face most of the time. I wanted to see it because they finally got the look right, and I was surprised to find that they got everything right.

Peter Pan has always had deeper currents beneath the story that most versions don't even acknowledge. This one does. There has always been a bittersweet element to the story that's always been in the back of my mind. Roger Ebert said it perfectly: "...to never grow up is unspeakably sad, and this is the first Peter Pan where Peter's final flight seems not like a victory but an escape."

Nobody walks into Peter Pan expecting to be moved, but I was. It felt as though I was seeing the story of Peter Pan as I’d always imagined. This story has been around longer than I've been alive, and P.J. Hogan and his collaborators found a way to make it seem new and exciting. It never goes overboard with action, there is humor aplenty, and in the end, I appreciated how this version became quite thoughtful. This is a Peter Pan for the ages.